


Memories Hurt a Little Bit Less With You

by HoneyBeeez



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Hello Kitty - Freeform, M/M, PTSD (sort of?), also this is set a little bit in the future so they can stand to be around each other., kyoutani was abused and was a foster kid but hes okay now, this was inspired by rain!!, yahaba is aa kind soul sometimes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 12:21:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11577975
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoneyBeeez/pseuds/HoneyBeeez
Summary: Kyoutani doesn't like the rain too much, and it just happens to be pouring. Good thing an unexpected distraction swoops in to save the day.





	Memories Hurt a Little Bit Less With You

**Author's Note:**

> I was working on my piece for the Setters and Aces Zine, Wanderlust, when i decided to take a break and write a little something about my boys and my favorite weather.  
> I was listening to "With You" by Illenium while writing this, so i put it in the title lol

Rain makes him think about things he would rather have shoved away for the rest of his life. Makes him think about the cliché visage of a puppy in a cardboard box, shaking so hard it probably gave itself brain damage. Makes him think about walking in wet socks. Makes him think about the soaked spring nights he spent in the park because he had nowhere else to go. Makes him think about the train ride he took to get here, sitting next to a stranger that swore she would help, and the odd drops that slid and stuck to the window.

Rain makes him think of a lot of things he would rather forget. And thunder only makes it worse.

So as dark clouds stretched over the sky on his way to Aoba Johsai, he felt his heart stutter, constrict, _suffocate_ in his chest. He fought the urge to _run_. So as the floodgates opened as he was reading aloud a passage in his literature class, his voice broke off sounding oddly strangled, and as his mind was outside, drenched, cold, his teacher had to call him back several times and chose someone else to read the rest. So as the rain continued throughout the day and refused to trickle off as classes ended, his mind wasn’t anywhere he could keep track of.

“Kyoutani?” someone called, cutting through the pitter patter of rainfall, calling him back as he stared vacantly out a hallway window. The shuddering breath he managed to pull in wasn’t justified. He didn’t look, not right away, but when he felt like he could lift his head without feeling ghost-water rolling from his hair and down his neck, he _did_ , and saw Yahaba Shigeru looking at him, wide-eyed.

He was expecting a scoff, a scolding, something that would force him into reacting. Kyoutani was expecting harsh expressions and actions, like a return of the foreign feeling of Yahaba’s work-worn palms shoving into his shoulders in public. He didn’t get it. After a wordless moment, with reality settling in between them as heavily as the precipitation falling down, down, _down_ outside, Yahaba turned toward the window, looking fondly out of it, before turning back to him.

“Don’t like the rain much?” he asked, and it was the gentlest Kyoutani had ever heard him. They weren’t as at odds with each other as they were before, and Kyoutani guesses there’s something like _friendship_ between them now, but the inflections like silk in Yahaba’s voice _in that moment_ was something novel. Kyoutani had to think hard about the _words_ , not the tone, just to come up with an acceptable answer.

“Hate it,” Kyoutani muttered, refusing to look back out that window. He couldn’t get lost in his own mind again, not with Yahaba next to him, not when he was still at school, not when there was practice in a solid thirty minutes and he had to prepare himself to slump through the downpour just to get to the _gym_ , let alone _back home_ afterwards.

“I’ve always kind of liked it,” Yahaba said, not dropping the conversation. “The smell of rain is probably my favorite.”

Kyoutani wants to mutter “ _good for you_ ” or “ _who fucking cares_ ” or “ _it’s actually the smell of the plants and their response to the exposure of water_ ” but he doesn’t. He bites the inside of his lip, hard, vaguely tasting blood, and stays quiet. There’s a lump in his throat that feels like the size of a baseball and swallowing it, apparently, wasn’t an option. He doesn’t think he could speak around it, anyways.

“You seem out of it,” Yahaba notes, turning away from the window and towards him, canting his hip out so that it rested on the sill. “You alright?”

“Fine,” Kyoutani replies immediately, because they were passed the point where the question would be met with a barked “ _why would you care_ ” but not where it would be answered with the truth, either. He glances over at the captain, a little wary, but finally sees something _familiar_. Yahaba’s glaring at him, unimpressed, his lips pursed and quirked a little to the side, like Kyoutani was a puzzle he was supposed to figure out. It was unnerving, but, for a second, Kyoutani forgot about the pouring rain.

“Alright,” Yahaba accepts, shrugging and standing up straight. “C’mon,” he adds, jerking his head back, down the hallway that leads downstairs and out of the building. Kyoutani raises his eyebrows. “Practice was cancelled,” Yahaba says as explanation, almost bored. “The coaches heard it was going to start flooding, and they didn’t want to cause trouble for us getting home.”

“How kind,” Kyoutani mutters, knowing that the coaches let them off easy because they probably didn’t want trouble getting home, either.

“So are you going to come with me to the convenience store or not?”

* * *

 

It’s cold, and the darkened gray of the sidewalk is a color Kyoutani would remember if he ever went blind, and the rain hasn’t stopped and the sounds of a million raindrops _plipping_ grates on his ears. But he can’t focus on that. _For once_ he can’t focus on running away from the noise, the colors, the _smell_ , because there’s a bright pink Hello Kitty umbrella over his head and a warm shoulder brushing his every other step and it’s distracting in the best way.

He’s not running in the rain. He’s walking in it. Safely. Sanely.

Yahaba isn’t talking for once, which makes his nerves shot, but he can practically _feel it_ when the captain’s gaze slides onto him. It happens more often than he thought it would on the short walk to the convenience store.

Yahaba lets him get whatever he wants, which isn’t really that odd since Yahaba has taken to buying the whole team snacks or ramen like Oikawa was forced to, but it’s weird when it’s just the two of them. Yahaba doesn’t seem bothered, ambling around by Kyoutani’s side and, when they pass the fridges in the back, grabbing some coffee for himself. When they check out, Kyoutani mutters his thanks and Yahaba waves him off.

“Why the hell do you have a Hello Kitty umbrella?” Kyoutani finally asks, glaring up at the thing as Yahaba pops it open and holds it above them as they walk out of the establishment. Yahaba gives him a confused look before shifting his eyes up and breaking out into a brilliant smile.

“I almost forgot,” he laughs out, twirling the handhold in between his fingers before looking back at Kyoutani. “Oikawa bought it for me.” There’s a sappy smile pulling at Yahaba’s lips, and something like that directed at Kyoutani makes him cringe and look away.

“Say no more,” he mutters, refusing to let his eyes flick up to the pink atrocity as he fiddles with the packaging of his famima chicken.

“No, you have to hear the story behind it,” Yahaba says, almost a tinge of excitement in his voice. When Kyoutani looks back at him, there’s an odd glint in his eyes and a smile tugging effortlessly at the corner of his lips.

“Do I _have_ to?” Kyoutani goads, plying open his packaging and taking a bite of his food.

“Well, it involves you, so yes,” Yahaba says, as listless as he is when he prattles off the practice schedule for that day. The meaning makes Kyoutani blink, but he doesn’t bother interrupting. “It was…  a little bit after you came back to the team?” The umbrella twirls in between his fingers, stray water plopping down onto the street they’re walking on. “I was… pretty pissed, you know? So, that weekend, I think, Oikawa asked me to go shopping with him. Which is kind of weird, because not a lot of people go _shopping_ with Oikawa, right?”

“I can’t believe you lived to tell the tale,” Kyoutani deadpans through a mouthful, and Yahaba elbows him.

“Don’t interrupt, that’s _rude_ ,” Yahaba scolds, pouting, before launching back into memories. “ _Anyways_ , I think I was ranting about you, but I called you ‘Mad Dog,’ and he called me out on it.”

“Why?” Kyoutani asks, not caring about interrupting again. That was, what, one sentence? And there was so much to unpack. Yahaba was talking about him. He used Oikawa’s nickname for him, that he knew he hated (granted, he _still_ uses it sometimes to annoy him, but still). And Oikawa corrected him. That was… a lot.

“If I remember correctly,” Yahaba says after a moment’s hesitation, “he said that he gave that nickname to you _affectionately_ , and if I used it, it would be like sharing in that affection. Almost like a pet name.” Kyoutani stops, the back of the umbrella bumping his head as Yahaba continues, but the shock caught Yahaba’s attention. He stops and shuffles a step or two back so that the umbrella covered the both of them again, and gives Kyoutani a look. “What?”

“ _Pet_ name? Really?” Kyoutani says. He hopes he sounds as done as he wants to be, but it’s hard to keep a straight face when Yahaba finally _gets it_ and lights up like a firework display.

“ _Oh my god_ ,” Yahaba wheezes after laughing so loud, anyone in a mile’s radius could hear. “I cannot believe you just pointed out a _pun_.”

“You’re the one who said it,” Kyoutani says, pouting a bit. He knows he’s only being bitter about this because he wants to laugh, too. The whole thing is so _ridiculous_ , and he wants to be upset about the rain, he really does, it’s not like it’s just _gone_ but at least for now it doesn’t _matter_. Yahaba is still laughing, he is still standing under something so pink it could probably be visible in the dead of night and he wants to know _why_ , and the chicken in his hand is getting a bit cold. There’s no room in his head for the rain, not now, even though it was all around him.

“I know, but I didn’t _mean it_ ,” Yahaba laughs, still smiling wildly as he tries to get his breathing back to something that resembles normalcy. “Wait, where was I?”

“Pet names.”

“You’re no help,” Yahaba shoots back, before spinning the umbrella one again. “Right! Okay,” he says, apparently remembering, “so Oikawa was kind of laughing at me, and he said that, since we fought a lot, I was like a cat.”

“Mad Cat,” Kyoutani says under his breath, and Yahaba snorts at him.

“And right as he said that, we passed a small shop with this umbrella in the window,” Yahaba chuckles, shaking his head. “He thought it was fate or something, so he ran in and bought it for me before I could stop him.”

“And you _use_ it?” Kyoutani grimaces, looking at the obnoxious thing one more time before giving a judgmental look at the captain.

“Better than not having one,” Yahaba says, intentionally leaning a bit too close so their shoulders bumped more roughly than they have been. “You hate the rain, right? So why don’t you have an umbrella?”

He knew the answer. Of course he knew the answer. He didn’t like the rain, didn’t want the rain, wouldn’t mind if he lived in a place where he never saw another cloud _ever_ , but he couldn’t have an umbrella. How many times did he hear that he didn’t deserve one? How many times does it take for something to get stuck, engrained, embossed in your memory that it doesn’t wash away no matter how hard you wash it?

“Doesn’t matter,” Kyoutani says, shrugging, shoving the rest of his chicken in his mouth so he had an excuse not to talk anymore. He hopes the answer is like the “ _drop it_ ” he hopes it is.

“Well, it _matters_ , because you’re going to end up getting sick one of these days. Hold this,” Yahaba lectures, shoving the Hello Kitty handle into his hand. Yahaba slings his backpack off one of his shoulders while they’re still walking to Kyoutani doesn’t know where, and fishes out the can of coffee he shoved in there. He pops the lid, the sound familiar yet different behind the cacophony of the rain, and takes a drawn-out sip.

“Like you care about me getting sick,” Kyoutani comments after a second. “You know I’ll just play through it.”

“No, you _won’t_ ,” Yahaba stresses, wiping his mouth after another sip. “If you get sick, you’re sitting out until Watari says you’re better.”

“Why Watari?”

“Because he’s a stickler for this kind of stuff,” Yahaba said. “He told me, one time, he kept _himself_ in bed for a week because he was slightly warmer than normal. He wasn’t even _sick_.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would,” Yahaba says smugly before looking out and nearly tripping over his own feet. “Oh… the park.”

Kyoutani blinks, looking up, and a familiar park stares back at him. It’s soaked, the grass green and muddy, and the sand around the slicked play equipment looks more like one step into it and it would claim your shoe. It’s deserted, too, but with it practically pouring, Kyoutani understands.

“Sorry, I was just kind of walking aimlessly and,” Yahaba says quickly, almost panicked, before he bites back his words and laughs dryly. “Wait, you live around here too, right?”

“Yeah, not too far,” Kyoutani says shrugging.

“Alright, well,” Yahaba says, ducking away from the protection of the umbrella and walking backwards away from him, “thanks for walking with me.”

“Your-” Kyoutani says, sticking out the umbrella insistently, flabbergasted. Yahaba waves his hand again.

“Give it back at morning practice,” Yahaba calls over the rain, giving him a final wave before swigging back the rest of his coffee and throwing the can away. He doesn’t look back at Kyoutani and the sentimental umbrella as he strides across the park.

After a while, Kyoutani gets bored of seeing him get smaller, so he turns and heads home.

* * *

 

At morning practice, Yahaba barrels into the club room barely on time, wearing a bright yellow poncho with blue dog ears on the hood, positively _grinning_.

“Figured you didn’t care much for umbrellas,” he shouts in front of anyone, and Kyoutani bangs his forehead on his locker.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!!! tell me what you think!!  
> things will always get better, sometimes you just gotta wait for it, so don't give up just yet!  
> love ya!  
> -HB


End file.
